


the radio turns on, playing love songs

by tigriswolf



Series: comment_fic drabbles [270]
Category: One Direction (Band), Real Person Fiction
Genre: Depression, Grief/Mourning, I'm Sorry, M/M, this is so fucking sad oh my god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4880140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't sing anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the radio turns on, playing love songs

**Author's Note:**

> Title: the radio turns on, playing love songs  
> Disclaimer: they’re real people so they belong to themselves; title & prompt from Gloria Trevi's 'Ángel de la Guarda'.  
> Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH and mourning/grief  
> Pairings: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 260  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: any. any.
> 
>  
> 
> _Strange things happen when you're home alone._  
>  _You hear my voice, saying, 'hey love'_  
>  _And in the shower, someone soaps up your back,_  
>  _and the radio turns on, playing love songs. ___

He doesn't sing anymore. Not even a hum as he does the washing up, not a single murmured lyric along to the radio. Nothing. Mum tells him it's not healthy, and so do the doctors the boys keep dragging him to. 

He's a singer, after all. Shouldn't he sing? 

But he doesn't. They can keep on going if they want, even Zayn coming home, but he simply can't. Every time he opens his mouth, he remembers that he'll never hear that voice again, except from a speaker. Never in person. Never murmured against his skin, whispered into his mouth. 

He barely talks, to anyone. Mum wants him to go home, let her swaddle him up in his childhood room, away from what's quickly becoming a mausoleum because he can't throw anything away. He hasn't even been on the internet to see what the fans are saying, or the press. It doesn't matter.

Nothing matters. 

He keeps the radio blaring, a single song on repeat, and it is never going to make him feel better. But every time that pause happens, right before - 

Every time, he stops wherever in the house he is, this house they chose together, this house they would've raised children in, where they've laughed and loved in every room, and he remembers the way Louis looked at him the first time he ever sang this song, and he nearly whispers along with the solo he wrote only for Louis. 

_you're all i want, so much it's hurting_  
_you're all i want, so much it's hurting_


End file.
